


The Hunter and The Boar

by arcanetrickster



Series: The Hunter and The Boar [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Childhood Friends, Eventual Smut, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route Spoilers, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Spoilers, Fluff and Smut, Gay Male Character, Height Differences, M/M, Minor Character Death, My First Fanfic, My First Work in This Fandom, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Rating May Change, Romance, Secret Crush, Slow Burn, Smut, Spoilers for Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Tragedy, bisexual disaster sylvain, dimilix, friends to lovers to friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2019-12-07
Packaged: 2020-12-24 04:40:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 20,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21093557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arcanetrickster/pseuds/arcanetrickster
Summary: Felix had been trying to bring his Highness back to sanity since he realized the prince was alive--only for the prince to snap back at the cost of a close ally. He can't figure out how to process his surprising grief at losing this ally he didn't love with the relief and shame that it was his death that brought back the prince he knew and not his own efforts. After Dimitri is saved from assassination by the sacrifice of a close childhood ally, he finds himself pulled out of his five year haze of death and vengeance. These are the ramifications of being disassociated for five years, dealing with the world he woke up to, and the friends, loves, and Kingdom that waited for him while he was gone.





	1. Back

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is my first foray into fanfic! I've been writing my entire life but never really put it anywhere. I'm not super sure how this will go, but it's exciting to actually post it, even if nothing happens with it! Any feedback anyone has is appreciated and I hope you enjoy my takes of these wonderful characters, I hope they're true enough to the originals. I'll try to post about once a week!

The blood washed off his hands easy enough. 

Brick rivulets streamed down the bright white sink of the monastery’s dorm bathroom and Dimitri couldn’t help but wonder how much blood these drains had seen over the centuries. The ichor of children and professors that would never really scrub out deep in the bowels of the monastery. He scraped at the dried black bits under his fingernails and tried not to think about how it had seeped under his gloves or whose it was.

“Less exciting when it’s not your kill, hm, boar?”

Dimitri didn’t have to look up to recognize the rolling thunder of disdain emanating from the open arc but he was surprised to hear it. In the blur of the aftermath and the long trek back to the monastery, he hadn’t been able to find Felix in the crowd of battalions and old schoolmates-turned-fugitives. Not that Dimitri could stray far anyway, Professor was so concerned for him, she hadn’t let him out of her eyesight. He was sure she wouldn’t even let him come here to wash up and sleep but she’d encouraged the normalcy of his usual routine. Anything to keep the voices at bay.

Dimitri afforded himself a selfish glance in the mirror at the man languidly walking into the dormitory bathrooms like it was any other day and they’d just happened to sync up their schedules. Like the blood dark and dry on Dimitri’s cuffs wasn’t—

“I thought for sure you would be out training for your next bloodbath. Relishing in the victory.”

Victory? Yes, we won, Dimitri thought, but, Goddess, at what cost?

He turned off the faucet and dried his raw hands on a slip of towel, more rag than anything. The wetness at his wrists dyed the white cloth clay red and he held back a wince. The man over his shoulder was still in his usual indigo combat uniform, not a mote of dirt or blood on him. The white fur around his collar and draping down his back still looked flawless. Dimitri wasn’t sure how, Felix had speared through nearly as many men and women as he had that battle. Even in the blood haze of war, it was impossible not to watch the dancerlike artistry that was Felix with a sword. He moved as if he’d been born with it in hand, an elegant grace that neither his father nor his brother possessed.

Dimitri had envied it since they were children. If he were being honest, he’d coveted more than that when it came to Felix.

He cleared his throat of the thought.

“I thought you would be at the dinner with everyone,” Dimitri found his voice didn’t waver as he set the bloodied towel on the sink and started adeptly undoing the clasps on his chitinous vambraces, noting the matte specks he’d have to polish out later in his room.

“Mercedes would not stop staring at me,” Felix scoffed as if her concern were some sort of unforgivable crime. Goddess forbid their friend worry about him in a time like this. “I fear this time if she prayed any harder the Goddess would have actually come down.” The flat monotone to his words, nearly sibilant with its acidic disinterest, didn’t bely any emotion other than vague disgust.

“She means well,” Dimitri offered blandly, getting his arms free of the black armor and wrapping the braces in his cobbled together cloak. His arms ached as he bundled the armor together. No amount of training would prepare for the sharp jarring snap of bone stopping a lance. Relic or no. The snap mimicked in his words as he added, “She was probably worried since you were not at the grave.”

Felix’s copper-brown eyes widened slightly before narrowing on Dimitri’s haggard reflection in the mirror. He wanted to shrink back from the appraising glare. After five years, the manic-depressive haze in his mind had lifted, however briefly, and the hot shame Dimitri felt from what he had done and how he had acted was already louder than any disembodied ghostly howl.

Half of him wished for the nebulous unending rage to come back. At the moment, freshly lifted from the veil, he was unsure who he was without it. Perhaps he was the boar. Perhaps Felix was right as always.

“Is this really the death that brings you back?” His tone shifted from disinterested to accusatory as his arms crossed tightly around his midsection, defensive, even as he leaned against the doorway to the large washroom. “Not the hundreds of men and women and children you’ve boorishly slaughtered for your so-called revenge?”

Dimitri didn’t have an answer for that. He wasn’t sure he ever would.

“Incredible. All it took was another Fraldarius taking the blade meant for you.” His sneer lit a fire in his dark eyes, “One to snap you into a rage, the other to snap you out.”

Dimitri turned from the sink at that, cradling his cloak and armor in his screaming arms.

“I'll try to deserve it. Them. This Kingdom.” You. It caught on the back of his throat. “It won’t be in vain.”

The other man’s fingers clenched. Dimitri could hear the brown leather gloves creaking in the silent chamber. A muscle slid in his jaw, pale skin blotching red high on his cheekbones as if it was taking all of his energy not to draw the sword hanging loosely at his hip. Dimitri thought if anyone was going to take his life, it made sense for the last Fraldarius to do it and so the words he’d been trying to keep back slid out from between his teeth as he stepped forward earnestly,

“Felix, you know I loved your fath—”

Felix disappeared in a flash of blue and white, leaving only the echo of footsteps down the empty dormitory hall. Dimitri adjusted the bundle in his arms and waited until the echoes and voices died down before silently slipping back to his bedroom.

With the door closed and locked firmly behind him, Dimitri fumbled through the buckles on his segmented cuirass and cuisse. It took eons to strip off the blood clogged armor and then peel off the sweat-stuck garments beneath. Every strap and button and tie kept his mind on the next task until he was stripped to his leggings and there was nothing left to remove.

It was just him in the candlelit darkness. Alive and alone. Again.

***

Felix scrubbed at the wetness on his cheeks, breaking almost into a run to get away from the newly sane prince. The pain in the larger man’s gaze. The sorrow and grief and pity. It was a stark contrast to the matte blue swirling discord that Felix had been stealing glances at for months.

Of course his old man would be the one to snap the mad prince out of it. Rodrigue loved his highness and his father, Lambert, more than he’d ever loved his own sons. Of course Felix could never snap him out of it with words, coated in poison as they were. Every time he looked at the prince, Felix felt everything he wanted to say to his highness come out backwards and dagger sharp.

That was the difference between Felix and his father. His father only thought of the good of the Kingdom. Acted righteously and struck true without second guessing. There would be no question to how Glenn and Rodrigue would be seen in tomes written on their victory.

Felix, on the other hand, only thought of the prince. He thought of the five years the entire kingdom, himself included, thought the prince had died. All the things he'd wanted to say and scream and shout when he saw him, battered but alive. He was consumed these past months with clawing through the animalistic rage to the man he knew was lost and helpless beneath. None of those thoughts ever came out as anything other than barbs sharper and more frequent than a rose bush.

Seeing him in the washrooms methodically wiping the blood from his hands and armor with that agonizing glint in his eye, the sheen of unshed tears the prince probably hadn't even let himself notice yet. Felix knew he was back at just a glance. He didn't know whether to feel relief, jealousy, or shame at how quickly the jealousy set in. His father wasn't even cold and Felix already knew he was fine with Rodrigue's death if this was the price of getting his Highness back.

Perhaps he was the boar.

He pushed again at his cheeks as he was unceremoniously dumped into the crisp night air of the dormitory courtyard. The clean winter air hit him like a blow to the chest, as if he was just now taking a breath for the first time in ten minutes. A staggered breath and then another. He rasped once and again, wondering if the tears were from his father's death or relief at his highness being back.

“Felix?”

Goddess, not him.

“Walking back from a one night stand?” Felix jabbed while clearing his throat of any tightness from the earlier encounter with the prince. His back was to his dearest acquaintance, the red-haired casanova. He wasn’t sure if his emotions could survive another encounter with a childhood friend, Sylvain or no.

“Walking back from the dinner, you ass.” Sylvain laughed back, stopping his easy gait at Felix’s shoulder. “Who am I supposed to chase around here? One of the nuns?”

“Might have better luck with the monks.” Felix offered with as flat a tone as he could muster. Sylvain moved around to the front of him, nearly half a foot taller, and cocked his head, a wicked smile unfurling.

“I have, actually.” Sylvain winked.

Felix fought the exasperated smile that threatened to split the harsh set of his mouth.

“What are you doing out here? Have you just been standing around in the cold?”

“No, I went to shower to clear my mind after dinner and,” he sighed, palming his temple. A stress headache was starting to blossom. His fingers itched to swing a sword, “the prince is back.”

“Dimitri?” Sylvain asked, “Dimitri has been back for months. He is weird but—”

“No, he’s back. Cognizant.”

Sylvain’s eyebrows rose. He scratched his flame-colored head. “Should we—?”

“It can wait until morning. I am going to train.” He went to move but a hand caught his shoulder.

“Fe, come on now, take the night. We can talk about it.” Sylvain’s half-smile and jesting nature disappeared in a flash. This was what Felix liked so much about Sylvain, just not when it was directed at him. He was more appraising and calculating than anyone. No one but his inner circle ever gave him credit for it.

Words tried to bubble up from Felix’s deepest recess but he shook his head and bit them back bitterly. He just said, “There is nothing to talk about.”

“I know that’s not true.” Sylvain insisted, hand squeezing his shoulder, both to reassure him and keep him still.

“I cannot talk about it.” Felix amended, pushing his bangs out of his face.

“Which part?” The half-smile was back as quick as it had disappeared. There was a second of stunned silence and hot shame before Sylvain’s hand left Felix’s shoulder to clap his back as he passed him into the dormitory.

The door clattered closed behind Sylvain. The cool air calmed the heat and chilled the reemerging tears. He walked, head down, as fast as he could to the training grounds.


	2. Repair

The sword whistled through the air as he moved through exercises in the dirt floor of the training grounds. A cool breeze filtered in from the open ceiling above, wicking sweat from Felix's furrowed brow and matted bangs. His shoulders and arms screamed from the day's battle and it wasn't helped by the amount of magic he'd used to supplement his fighting style. Annette never mentioned how much releasing magic could hurt. It stung his fingers with static, numbing him up to his forearms, every time.

He definitely respected Annette even more for it. She never showed signs of wear or discomfort. It took everything for him not to wince every time he released a bolt of lightning. The smell of ozone and burnt hair stung in his nose still.

Felix closed his eyes against the smell, as if it would help, and flew through the remaining motions of his strength training when the soft sound of metal plate armor scraping against plate caught his ear. A musical metal wind chime trying to be quiet on the sand of the stone floor. Eyes still closed, Felix listened for the footsteps to get within blade range and whipped around, slamming the sword against the blade of a quickly-drawn halberd.

His arm vibrated down to the shoulder at the solidity of the block, chattering his teeth. The prince stood at the point of his blade, blue eye bright as he glanced from the clashed blades to Felix. His previously messy, tangled blonde hair was brushed, clean, and pulled back into a half bun, long bangs staying over his patch. His armor had been methodically scrubbed until it shone in the torchlight, the cape free of five years worth of dirt and grime. He looked like himself again. The King Felix knew he could be back in school. Tall, strong, confident but not prideful.

He'd always been in shape, but the five years of hiding from the Empire and fighting for his revenge had done wonders for his body. With him this close, the closest they'd been in five and a half years, Felix could see the changes in the planes of the taller man's face. Drawn cheekbones, a harder set to his mouth, a more defined jaw.

Everything but the color of his flame-bright eye was different. 

Heat bubbled up from Felix's chest. With a flourish of the sword, Felix broke contact, retreating back a few uneasy steps.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, your Highness?” He did an exaggerated bow with as flat a tone as he could muster to hide the surprise and interest turning his cheeks pink.

There was a sigh and the scrape of the halberd resting on the stone. “Get up, Felix, bowing doesn't suit you.”

Felix straightened up, sword still drawn but resting by his side, he said nothing and waited. The prince frowned.

“It's been a week.”

“Did you come to tell me about the passing of time, boar?” Felix asked, busying himself with adjusting the glove of his sword hand so he didn't have to look up at his Highness' face 

“You’ve been avoiding me since your father, Felix.”

“You've had your nose to the ground groveling to everyone this entire week. I'm surprised you even noticed.”

“I noticed because every time I got up off my knees from…groveling, as you so lovingly called it, I tried to find you and you were always missing.” The prince responded in a tone that belied poorly-concealed frustration.

Felix swallowed back the image of the prince on his knees and turned away from the man to distract himself with running through more fencing drills.

“Well, you found me. Congratulations.”

“Saints, Felix,” the prince huffed, “could you sheath the sword for just a moment?”

“If you are trying to apologize, I do not want to hear it nor do I need to.” Felix muttered, trying to get through preparations of attack drills without faltering due to the proximity of his highness.

“I am not arrogant enough to think I deserve or can even earn your forgiveness.” 

“Then we are done here, your Highness.” He muttered. What would it take to get him to leave? Over his shoulder, he heard the prince move and stifled a sigh of relief at his exit, putting more fervor into each swing of his sword. He still wasn't ready to talk to his Highness. A week of avoiding dinners and training and rearranging planning sessions with the Professor was not enough time. The prince had been gone for nearly five and a half years. Felix had gotten used to that, even at their reunion the prince wasn't really there. 

Felix went for a heavy swing, fueled by frustration of literally every kind, when there was a flash of blue and black and blonde. Arm placed defensively above his head, the sword dug into the scales of the prince's vambrace, vibrating up Felix's hands and forearms. The clang of metal on metal was nearly deafening as it rang up out of the open ceiling.

The lit torches surrounding the room twitched and glistened along the prince's black armor and silver steel and backlit the steam of their exhales in the cold night. The prince twisted his arm and stepped forward, wrenching the sword from Felix's grasp, loosened from surprise.

It clattered to the ground, loud with the bite of metal on stone. He didn't dare look down to see if the steel remained unbroken. He didn't dare move.

“I could've hurt you, you idiotic boar!” The words came out too high with worry, echoing Felix's unchecked snap of fear back to him.

“I wasn't worried. You have more control over that sword than you do of your own tongue, sharp as they both are.” The prince said with ease, a half-laugh at the end of the sentence. The edge of the prince's mouth flickered with a smile, like a match struck and instantly blown out as their eyes met. “I’m surprised you were even worried about it.”

“Personal feelings aside, I am not trying to commit regicide, your Highness. Accident or no.” He spat back, heart hammering so hard he could only hear it and the prince's breathing. He could have killed him. Felix palmed his temple, taking a long calming breath. “What are you still doing here?”

“While I'm not going to apologize right now, I do owe you one when you're prepared to hear it,” His Highness started, close enough to touch. Five years he'd been missing. Nearly six months he'd been so distant he might as well have been gone. But now he was back, closer than ever, and here. Felix clenched his fists and crossed them behind his back. “You will listen to what I told all the others though.”

Felix stared at the taller man's collarbones peeking out from beneath the armor. 

“I will earn this, Felix. Do not think I take any of this lightly or for granted. I’ve lost Glenn, Rodrigue, even you.” The prince said. Felix had to force his eyes on the man's face, gaze narrowing in confusion. He wanted to look anywhere else. He wanted to be anywhere else.

“Me?” It came out more pointed than he wanted.

The prince looked as confused as Felix felt, “Yes, you. Felix, you are my oldest friend, but do you not remember us as children? We were each other’s shadow. Now you look at me like I have grown the tusks you always accuse me of having. I do not blame you for it, but let’s not pretend we are the same friends we once were. How your father handled Glenn’s death and what I did at Duscar rightfully changed your opinion of me. It changed both of us.”

Heat pooled in his collar. While the prince was half-right—how his Highness acted at Duscar had been both terrifyingly and indescribably animalistic—that was not why Felix had worked so hard to keep a frigid distance between them. The idea that the prince thought he’d lost Felix had him dizzy but there was no other way to see it from the prince’s perspective. Felix had limited their interactions to lessons and, from time to time when his hormones took over his brain, dangerously indulgent spars.

“I have admittedly kept a distance in recent years—”

“You have not called me by name since we were children.”

_Well, not to your face,_ Felix thought, unbidden, and then attempted to bury the most recent time he’d called out the prince’s name, muffled by the dorm pillow as it was. Blood pooled in his cheeks and hips. _Not now, not now._ The prince's words and breaths came out on puffs of steam and Felix finally felt the cold nipping at his nose and cheeks as it was warring with the flush rising up from his chest. His heart had already been hammering from the exercise but now it tripped its way into a sprint.

Felix’s mouth hesitantly opened to refute him but the prince just held a hand up, a soft smile forming, “Again, Felix, I do not blame you. I need someone who will keep me grounded and in check. I promise you I will be the King you all believe me to be, even after these past five years.” As he spoke, his Highness knelt and picked up the sword lying on the ground between them.

Felix stared at the crown of the prince’s head and the ground threatened to come out from underneath him.

“All this to say, Rodrigue's death, as insane as it sounds, reminded me that I don't have to lose you entirely. That I don't want to lose you too. I want to fix this so I do ask that, at the very least, we both try. Maybe we begin sparring again?” The prince offered, straightening out and holding the blade, hilt first, to Felix, “You’re the only one here good enough to beat me. Would you at least agree to that?”

_No. Goddess, no. Absolutely not_. Felix's mind screamed.

Felix instead took the hilt. He could feel the half smile, dagger sharp, cutting across his face at the weight of his sword in his hand. He flourished it once before guiding it into its sheath, “Agree with which part, boar? Being better than you or sparring again?”

The prince raised an eyebrow, appearing surprised at Felix even considering the offer, “Both?”

“Then yes,” Felix allowed himself to meet the prince’s ice-blue gaze, thunder threatening to crackle at his fingertips as they locked gazes. The barely-contained magic felt nearly as wild as the hot need flushing up to Felix's cheeks, “I agree.”


	3. Reckless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mistakes have been made.

Dimitri stood in front of the doors to the training area after sneaking out of his room like he was seventeen again and it was after curfew. Twenty-two years old and breaking out of his dorm to catch a glimpse of Felix. He hadn’t changed at all. At least this time he’d planned it. Set a schedule. Forced the nobleman’s hand.

Dimitri had left the training grounds after his first non-apology to Felix feeling both relieved of a great weight and simultaneously overburdened. Before he’d left the grounds, he had nailed down a schedule with the slim noble. Twice a week, after dinner, when everyone was in their dorms. Dimitri had suggested the time partly so there would be no interruptions, but also so his soon-to-be knights didn’t see their soon-to-be king get repeatedly thrown in the dirt by a man a good head smaller than him.

They had also agreed to no magic and Felix specifically requested for Dimitri to refrain from using Glenn’s moves. Disheartening, considering that was the only way for Dimitri to beat him. He supposed they both had to move on from leaning on Glenn. Dimitri was unsure how to fight without Felix’s brother. The man he’d looked up too. The man who taught him how to use a lance. The man who’d introduced him to Felix. The small boy with lovely hair who had loved Dimitri on sight.

Dimitri had ruined that.

He shook the thought away, pushed the doors open.

Felix did not turn around from whatever drills he was running, a dancer alone on a stage, as the stone doors ground apart, “You are late.”

“Sylvain would not let me go without an excuse.”

The drill paused, halfway through a sword thrust, the blade glinting in the moonlight. He still faced away, sword still ready to kill, elegant arm outstretched.

“What excuse did you give him?”

“The professor needed my help with a new gambit,” Dimitri admitted and closed the doors gently behind him as if to beg them to keep this secret.

“Well, she does. Hers are miserable.” Felix finished his final motion with the twist of his shoulders and turned to face Dimitri across the training grounds. “I think he would have been fine with the truth, however.”

Dimitri shook his head, shuddering, “I could not deal with his teasing.” Sylvain was already over the moon that Dimitri had required his help finding Felix in the first place. He owed the redhead a royal favor for outing his best friend’s location to the man who had no right to him in the first place. If Sylvain knew that outing Felix had led to secret spars, there would be no end to it. Better to keep him in the dark for as long as humanly possible.

Felix’s mouth quirked in almost a smile, “Fair.” He turned, escaped hair from his silky black updo sticking to his neck from the exertion of exercise. His usual cerulean vest, cape and amber belts were gone while his black and white blouse was unbuttoned to below his collarbone exposing fragments of moonlight-colored skin. Dimitri paused, allowing an indulgent glance at the newer, older shape of Felix. He’d grown more broad-shouldered in their time apart. His muscles were more well-defined, especially his thighs, accentuated by the tight blue boots that stopped at the middle of his quads. He wasn’t the small boy from their youth or the kid he knew in school. This was a man who had fought his way through five years and change. For him. For the prince who was supposed to be dead.

_Maybe this is a mistake,_ Dimitri thought, tightening his grip on the halberd._ Maybe I’m not ready for this. It’s only been nearly two weeks of silence from the whispers. I’m not in the right headspace for this._

Felix’s metallic eyes pared him down in an instant, “You’re overdressed, boar. Are you really that frightened of me you had to come fully armored?” Felix said after a moment, looking at Dimitri like he’d just gnawed on the rind of a lemon.

“I need to learn how to beat you fully armored.”

“You need to learn how to beat me. Full stop.” Felix cocked his head, eyebrow raised. His breath formed soft tufts of cloud in front of his face as if this entire exchange was an exercise in itself. “You should start unarmored and, once you can, erm, manage that, then you can put the armor on.”

Dimitri huffed an exasperated sigh, leaning the halberd against the wall and removing his cape, "This takes half an hour to get in and out of."

"Then I hope you've learned your lesson of wearing it here.” Felix said, voice sharp. “I don't have all night, get started.”

"It would be faster if I had help.”

“I am sure it would be.” The slim noble went back to drills, back to the prince. _Goddess, he didn’t miss that tongue_. He fumbled for the buckles at his vambraces first and placed them with great care next to his cape. Then the armor at his biceps. Straps that took ten minutes on a good day, fifteen minutes when Felix was shooting glares from across the room. Heat striped Dimitri’s face as he stumbled through the straps at his chest, nearly turned entirely around to try to see his bad side, when slim, gloveless fingers pulled his own hands away, warm in spite of the chill.

“Fine, I cannot watch you flagrantly waste my time, boar.” Felix hissed, face bending towards the leather straps as he undid the straps with an ease that belied practice. Dimitri couldn’t even break out of them that fast, though the missing eye didn’t help him on this side.

_He always balked at the thought of being a knight or sire. So whose armor had he been putting on and removing? Ingrid’s?_ Dimitri thought. He found himself repulsed at the idea. It couldn't be her. She'd knock him out after the second barbed word. He watched the dark crown of Felix’s head, feeling the pressure of his fingers on his ribs heighten before the shell of his chest plate lifted. His heart thrummed at the soft flutter of Felix’s touch along his sides.

“Thirty minutes for armor. Absurd.” Felix scoffed to himself, head bobbing as his quick hands went to the other side of the chestplate and undid those straps as well, entirely removing the piece. He placed it on the ground next to the other discarded armor with a gentleness Dimitri was surprised he possessed. “_Tsk_, how do you even get anything done?”

“With patience,” Dimitri admitted, moving to undo the ties on his thighs when Felix knelt in front of him on the dirt-covered stone floor. Without even flinching, his slight hands slid into the places where the shell overlapped and it was hard for Dimitri to reach. There were three snaps, the loosening of the ties and fingertips tracing the high inside of his thigh. Heat began to pool in his hips as the thigh armor loosened and came off. Felix placed it next to his boots before more pressure on the inside of his other thigh. The snaps weren't as quick here and Felix struggled for a moment, fingers running the length of his thigh to find the clasps. More than once. It was more than Dimitri had been touched in five years. His vision swam.

"Ridiculous," Felix murmured to himself, finally snagging the three clasps and hitting them in adept succession. The final piece came off and Felix swayed up to stand, eyes thin as slits. "You'd never catch me dead in that."

"Because it’s a pain?"

A slow smile unfurled, taunting, and, with the effect it had on Dimitri, Felix could have still been kneeling in front of him, "Because I don't need it." He walked away back towards the middle of the room and drew his sword, pointing it at the prince. “Come on, your Highness, I don’t have all night.”

Dimitri glanced at the halberd, sharp enough to cut parchment. “You don’t want to do training weapons?”

“Perhaps when I’m scared of you hitting me.” Felix quipped and nudged his sword again at the prince.

Dimitri took the challenge, lunging forward in a clash of metal.

... 

This is the stupidest thing I have ever done, Felix thought in the bath, stripping the sweat from his skin in the middle of the night with bucket after bucket of warm water. The prince had already bathed and gone to bed after training, covered in bruises from slaps from the flat of Felix’s blade. Felix was entirely untouched and yet had been breathing the heaviest at the end of training, steam clouding up from his mouth in quick, silent puffs. He would’ve loved to blame it on exertion but his Highness’ undershirt had been clinging to every muscle at the end of it, thin shirt and pants soaked with exercise and pain. His blonde hair had come undone, reminiscent of the monster of the monastery he had been for five years.

That was where Felix had called it, leaving without ceremony or even a goodbye to the prince. It was as much as he could handle, an overdose nearly.

_This is so reckless._

But, goddess, it felt so good to be back with him. To be near him, alive and whole. To feel his breath on his neck, his warmth on his fingers, the strength in the swing of the halberd. How the steel felt, reverberating up his forearms. How he felt kneeling in front of him, fingers playing at the leather straps of his armor.

How Felix had to stifle his avid imagination of twitching his hands just a little bit higher. An accidental slip. A hot palm in the right place.

The steam of the washroom licked at the incandescence still lingering from the thrill of the fight. The dark, glistening heat he had tried so hard to ignore began to coalesce and harden. He’d been half-erect for the entire spar, but what he found now in the middle of the washroom nearly hurt to touch.

He listened for anything other than the sound of his quick breathing—leaning ever faster into a pant—and running of water. Upon finding nothing but silence, he allowed his hand to drop to his erection, stifling any noise that threatened at the warmth and pressure. This would take no time at all. His hand moved quickly, hot silk beading up along the slit. Quick strokes. He tried to keep his mind blank, only leaving the sensation, the heat and pleasure beginning to unknit in his body. Everything narrowed as he quickened, tightened his grip, twisted around the head. It began to build, his breaths echoing back to him in the small tiled enclosure, faster still. Echoing enough he could almost pretend it was someone else, in sync with his own strokes.

Someone with thick blonde hair matted to his jaw and neck, soft lips lushly parted, hand digging into Felix’s hair as he knelt, flame-bright eye closing—the pleasure released, spidering through Felix in a wave as his hips jerked once, twice, mirroring the pulses of cum now disappearing into the drain. He stood there for a long moment, knees weak, breath uneven, until he trusted himself to move. He turned off the water and slowly dried and dressed in his night clothes before silently walking back to his room.

He climbed into bed, body spent, and stared at the ceiling.

_Goddess, this is the stupidest thing I have ever done._


	4. Ties that Bind

A bowl of oats slapped down on the table across from Felix the next morning. He didn’t look up, already knowing the owner just based on the haphazard slosh of the movement. Another bowl sat down primly next to that one and both of his friends sat, mouths already opening for a conversation he didn’t want to have.

“No, I still don’t want to talk about what happened to Rodrigue or his Highness,” he said to Ingrid and Sylvain, continuing to flip through his book on famous battles in Fodlan history.

“Good, I wanted to talk about what happened to me last night," Sylvain laughed and leaned over the table as if they were all sharing some big secret. As if Sylvain's dick and what happened to it were not the worst kept secrets in the monastery. Ingrid groaned and immediately picked her bowl up and went to join Shamir and Catherine at another table.

"It gets easier and easier," Sylvain said, watching her go with a half smile.

"That should worry you. She's our best friend."

"Yes, and she's drawing boundaries finally. Unlike you." 

Felix flipped a page in his book, not taking the bait.

Sylvain didn’t let up, "I mean, spars, Felix? Really? Is that like a kink for you or—?"

"He needs the help. Five years of fighting like a boar ruined his form." Felix snapped at the redhead, a first warning, voice low in the loud dining hall. "He owes it to us to not die after everything he put us through."

"You mean everything he put you through."

“Tch,” A muscle slid in Felix's jaw, "How'd you even find out about it?"

"You think I believed the excuse he gave me? He was acting like a guilty man. I followed him." Sylvain mimicked walking around encumbered by armor, "Clattered all the way over to you. A nice change of pace from you tripping over yourself to get to him."

Felix stared at his book. He couldn't argue there. It was a nice change of pace. "Considering how much you think I need to get over it, I'm surprised you outed my location to him in the first place."

Sylvain was halfway through a spoonful of warm oats and he took his time with swallowing the bite. Felix averted his gaze from the redhead's mouth and throat. He made a meager attempt to keep his focus on the old book, the gilded edges of the silky pages, the handwritten words.

He shrugged as he swallowed his food, “What kind of wingman would I be if I didn’t do the bare minimum? Besides, when’s the last time you even got any? Me?” He winked. Felix tried not to lunge across the table to strangle him. One, because he was right. Two, because he was so Goddess-damned _loud_ about it.

He shoved all thoughts of Sylvain’s wicked mouth down back into the deep recess from which they bubbled up. “You’re a nightmare.”

“I can’t believe you’ve survived this long without it.” He said matter-of-factly.

“I can’t believe you’ve survived this long with all of it.”

“I think you mean thriving,” Sylvain sucked on his teeth momentarily before licking his lips and taking another bite of his oatmeal. “I figured I’d throw you a bone. For old times’ sake.”

“How generous.” Felix hissed.

“I’m nothing if not a good friend,” Sylvain beamed back, eyes dancing. He finished his oats and stood, taking his bowl with him. He glanced about at their friends and comrades and militia milling around the dining room, leaving for drills and battles, before his eyes narrowed and focused on Felix. His smile turned sly, “And call me selfish, but it was good to see you on your knees again.”

Fire ripped up Felix’s spine. He kept his face flat. “I hope you don’t lie awake at night, wondering why we broke up.”

“Oh, no, I sleep like a baby.” Sylvain’s smile never faltered and Felix could hardly fight the one threatening at the corners of his mouth.

“I’ll see you on our way to today’s battle, Sylvain.”

“Of course, Felix,” Sylvain walked through the dining hall turning every head but Felix’s.

… 

“I think you should talk to him about it.”

Dimitri glanced up at the woman on the pegasus keeping pace with him on the way back from battle.

“You think I haven’t tried?”

“I think you have been avoiding it. Like you do with most things.” Ingrid offered. She looked back at Felix and Sylvain walking together a good fifty yards behind them. Sylvain said something that made Felix smile. Dimitri tried to drown the jealousy at the ease of their friendship.

“I’m still getting used to not being entirely disassociated.”

“He’s probably still getting used to losing his father.”

“Rodrigue was a father to me as well, you know.” He glared at the blonde woman who’d always been the voice of logic, even when he was not prepared to hear it. “Can I at least wipe the blood from my blade before a lecture?”

"No." Ingrid said, gruff. The cut on her cheek from a narrowly missed arrow was a stark slash of crimson. He wished she'd grab Mercedes to heal it. "He's lost all of his family now, just like you, he just lost all of them _for_ you. _To_ you."

"You think I don't know that? Rodrigue's death snapped me out of it."

"No one should've had to die to do that in the first place, Dimitri." Ingrid muttered, words a cold snap.

"I know that, Ingrid. I am _trying_ to make amends. You have to believe that I'm working on it. For all of you, but especially him." Dimitri glanced back again at Sylvain and Felix. Felix had his hand in front of his mouth covering a laugh as a foot soldier was laying into Sylvain about something he couldn't hear. He assumed it was a broken heart left in Sylvain's wake. Maybe a sister's or brother's or even the soldier's own. "He doesn't let me broach the topic. So for now I'm going at his pace"

"You'll be king soon, Dimitri, don't lose House Fraldarius before you get the crown. He's the head now, not just your childhood crush, and we'll need nobles like him to oppose the castes the Crests create."

"Thank you for the reminder, Ingrid, I was so close to forgetting." He hissed up at her, fixing a glare on the woman he'd grown up with and to whom he had confided secrets she was speaking aloud right now. She shrugged, a half smile cutting across her face.

"Relax, no one's listening."

"When I'm king, I'll pass an ordinance to keep you from spilling anymore royal secrets."

"Good luck enforcing it, Dimi." She beamed and nudged her pegasus into the air before Dimitri could respond, the whip of wings blowing his hair out of his face and whipping his cape around his legs. He watched her go, frowning as he stood still on the path back to the monastery.

"Don't worry, your Highness, she's been doing that to me too." Sylvain clapped his shoulder as the pair caught up. Felix didn't pause his gait while Sylvain lagged behind, pulling the prince along, "What'd you say?" He stumbled to keep up with Sylvain, friendly arm still around his shoulder. Dimitri stared at the back of Felix's head and said,

"I think it's what I didn't say that made her mad."

Felix didn’t turn around and Sylvain started asking about dinner, roping the professor into it, as they kept walking back to the monastery, arm still over him.


	5. Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a long one.

Felix got back to the dorms a good while after last bells stopped echoing. His body felt like he’d been trampled by a battalion as he climbed the stairs to the second floor, aching down to the bones from extra hours of training on top of the battle he’d fought today. He dropped off his outer armor and vestments in his room and picked up his nightshirt before making the slog to the showers.

With this kind of exhaustion, he could have a long dreamless sleep. Just quiet darkness for six hours. No thinking about an insane soon-to-be-king or a best friend unable to think of partners as anything other than chess pieces or a father he wasn’t sure he even missed. He kept his mind blank as he washed the grit off, dried, redressed, and finally trekked back to bed. Necessary routines until the silky darkness of sleep.

He walked silently back down the tall, ornate hall peppered with dying lamps. Sylvain’s door was cracked open, the room inside silent and dark. It was a brag, but for who Felix wasn’t sure. He didn’t have the energy to care. He ran his fingers through his long hair as he passed, pulling out tangles, when he finally neared his room towards the end of the hall.

Tomorrow would be a training day with his highness. At least there was that to look forward to in the endless slog of battles and politics and internal dramas. It would all be done soon enough. Only a few more battles, a few more nobles to steal from Edelgard and—

A muffled cry pealed out into the silent halls. Panic rippled up his spine, chilling him to the spot in the suddenly too big, too empty hallway. He waited, ears twitching for the next noise. A softer shout this time from a few doors down. A nightmare? Felix tossed his bundle of clothes in his room and gently shut the door before creeping back towards the sound. He got a few doors down, the prince’s room, when quiet, garbled words floated from behind the mahogany, just loud enough for Felix to hear.

Whimpers. Pleas.

The mumbled sentences kept fading out at the end. Half-begged into the dark of the goddess before being abandoned. Felix wasn’t sure this was his business. He’d woken Sylvain from nightmares right after the huge battle between the church and the emperor, but he’d also been sleeping right next to the man. And if Ingrid ever had nightmares when they camped together on marches, she never made a peep.

Another cry pierced the boundary of the door. “_Glenn, no_—”

Not that name. Felix winced and tapped his head against the cold door.

_Goddess damn it._

The brass knob twisted easily, the door opened and closed on silent hinges. He was in his highness’ room. He'd never stepped foot in here. Even in school. In the filter of moonlight, the room appeared in shades of blue and grey. A desk in the corner stood with neatly stacked correspondence. His armor was polished on a stand in the corner. Nothing was out of place except for the prince himself who thrashed beneath soft grey furs once before stilling. Another whimper. Felix stifled his thoughts screaming at him to mind his own business and ran his hands over his face and back through his hair.

He stepped closer to the bed. "Your Highness."

No response. The soft throaty whimpers and head twitches continued. His blonde hair was out of its ties and haloed around his head. His eyepatch was off and on the nightstand, the scar that took his eye a muted grey in the moonlight.

His face was twisted up as if in pain. Felix's heart hammered in response, knees hitting the edge of the Prince's bed. "Hey, boar, wake up." He murmured a bit louder and touched the Prince's covered shoulder.

"Stop, mothe—" his Highness' words were bit off by sleep, teeth grinding from exertion.

Fuck. Felix sighed and sank next to the prince on the edge of the bed. Indulgent, he pushed the thick blonde hair from the prince's face before moving his hand to the Prince's opposite shoulder, shaking him with the same gentleness he'd used on Sylvain.

"Prince." Another whimper. He shook him a little harder, voice a bit stronger now. "Your Majesty."

Nothing. His blonde eyebrows threaded together.

_Goddess_. Felix cleared his throat and shook him one last time, saying in a stage whisper,

"Wake up, Dimi—" Quicker than he could get the Prince's name out, quicker than he could blink, his back was where the Prince's had been. His eyes refocused on the ceiling and then Dimitri's face which was hovering over his. He went to move only to find his wrists were pinned to the down mattress. One leg was on the bed, both of his highness' knees on either side of it. The prince was shirtless, chest and arms peppered with sweat, muscles flexed as his fingers tightened around Felix's slim wrists. His blue eye wasn't focused on Felix, half here, half there, still lost in the dreams.

"You're having a nightmare," Felix grunted, wrists screaming from the pressure, face getting hot from how much he'd imagined being in this position. Much to his horror, heat began to spread from his abdomen, into his hips. "Wake up."

There was a second where Felix prepared for two broken arms, when his highness blinked, and finally seemed to notice Felix lying there beneath him.

"Fe?"

Heat flared through him. The prince hadn't loosened his grip, his abs flexing as he adjusted in the cool darkness. Sweat followed the crease of his highness' bicep. Felix was instantly, painfully hard. _Not good._

"What are you—how—?"

How did he usually speak to the prince? With cold indifference? What did that sound like again? 

"You were screaming," he managed through grit teeth, sounding a lot more strained than he should, "I thought—I just came to wake you."

The prince blinked again, face twisting with confusion.

"Did you just get out of the baths?"

Goddess, what did that have to do with _anything_?

"What time is it?"

"Late. Past midnight," Felix answered, voice still strangled. The Prince's grip remained firm and steady and Felix was struggling to not imagine that grip around his throat, in his hair, on his—_fuck, please let me go._

"Did I say anything?" The question sounded haunted.

"No, just muttering." Felix didn't have the heart or the mindset to unpack what his highness had said. He didn't want to think about his brother or his late queen. Not like this.

He kept his eyes on the Prince's face, not strong enough to look and see how much his arousal was showing through his thankfully tight briefs and his nightshirt. The prince was breathing heavily and every exhale set Felix's skin on fire. The prince swallowed hard, gaze becoming clearer and clearer.

"W-What are you doing up?"

"I just got done training." Felix answered gruffly, adjusting under the blonde man. "Speaking of, where is this reaction time in our sessions?"

It was then that the prince seemed to finally fully realize what was happening. He looked down at Felix's wrists encased in his hands and released him with a start, hands moving to either side of Felix's shoulders. This was not any better for the smaller noble's heart rate, but he took the release to rub his aching wrists to keep his mind off his aching cock. Blessedly, the nightshirt had rucked up around his thighs, leaving his arousal not immediately noticeable.

Small miracles.

"Sorry about—did I hurt you?" He asked, voice softening like he was trying to tell Felix a secret.

His mind, traitorous as it was, flashed back to Sylvain asking that same question the first time they'd fucked. He'd laughed back then, sweat-drenched and exhausted, and asked, _do I look like I've been hurt?_ It was all Felix could do to shake his head no to the question now. _No, but you are more than welcome to._

"I'm fine. Are you fine?" He swallowed.

The prince nodded, muscle sliding in his jaw as his eye traced Felix's face, his hair. There was a pause that stretched on. The air gathering weight as they stared at each other. Felix's eyes traced the man's hair, his shoulders, his mouth. The moment continued to drag. So long that Felix considered every possible consequence if he just said fuck it and kissed the prince right here and now. Too many unknowns on his highness' side kept him from yanking his mouth down to his. But only just barely.

"So are you trying to have a slumber party, boar, or—?" Felix broke the dragging silence, clearing his throat of the lust that was making his voice so thick.

"Oh, saints, sorry." The prince snapped out of it and swung himself off Felix, resting against the wall flush with the mattress. His face blotched a little in the moonlight, sheepish as he sat next to Felix, wringing his fingers.

Felix tested sitting up and, once that proved doable, he gingerly moved off the bed, back to the prince as he stood, wincing at the fabric moving on his dick. "I'll see you at training tomorrow, your highness." He said over his shoulder, walking as quickly as he could to the door, absolutely aware of how visible his want to stay in that bed was. 

"Fe, er, I mean, Felix?" The blonde prince asked from the bed. Felix paused, hand tight on the doorknob to keep the trembling in his fingers hidden. "I—thank you. And sorry, again."

"It happens. Goodnight." He said, keeping his voice flat with great difficulty. 

"Goodnight."

The door closed between them without a sound. Felix couldn't get to his room fast enough. He tried to ignore his body, pacing uncomfortably in his locked room. He could not make this a habit. He couldn’t keep cumming every time the prince touched him or looked at him. He couldn’t keep putting himself in these situations. This wasn’t going to happen again. It couldn’t.

He pushed his hands through his hair, tugging at his roots.

Who was he kidding?

…

The door shut behind Felix without ceremony or sound. Dimitri exhaled the breath he'd been holding, pushing his hair from his face and slumping back down onto the bed. How embarrassing. Caught in a nightmare by the one person who didn't need another reason to not trust him as the leader of the country.

And, not only that, Dimitri had manhandled him like a doll, half conscious. Felix had _let_ him. He knew Felix better than anybody. No one did anything to that man unless he allowed it. So _why_ had he allowed it? Dimitri stared at the ceiling, trying to calm his breathing.

A deep breath. Another. He got a lungful of lavender. Felix. The bed was still body-warm. The pillow still damp from his hair. His hair. That had been a shock. He hadn't seen Felix's hair down since he was a kid. It was stunning, surrounding his head like a dark halo. It had glittered in the moonlight filtering into the darkness.

Waking up to that, Felix flushed and blinking wide up at him with his hair around him and his nightshirt nearly falling off his shoulders, had made Dimitri think he was still dreaming. Seeing surprise on Felix's face was rare. Seeing a flush not made of anger even more so. 

Dimitri flexed his hands, lying them on his chest, trying to get the feel of Felix's slim wrists entirely encased in his fingers off his mind. The feel of him shifting underneath him in bed, poised to fight or—

His breath quickened, trying to race his heartbeat. He was hard before the thought could entirely coalesce. Saints. His hand dipped to his leggings, palming the hard heat. Everything concentered to the pressure, eyes closing against it. Another breath, more lavender. In his mind, he could've had the smaller noble without a fight. He could've twisted his fingers into Felix's long hair, put both wrists in one hand above his head. Could've slid his free hand to the fork of Felix's legs, rucked up his nightshirt, ripped down his underwear. It would've been nothing.

His hand worked quicker the deeper he fell into the fantasy. 

Felix would’ve opened up in his hand, bucked into it. Slow, easy strokes. Edging him, teasing him. The same way Felix toyed with him in the training grounds with that stupid rapier. Payback. Kissing his jaw, throat and collarbone, working his way down, only focusing on him.

His hand tightened. Chest starting pepper again with sweat, flush moving from his face to his shoulders. Breath coming in quick bursts, every inhale breathing in more of Felix’s scent. He dragged his other hand down, heat beginning to unfurl in his core. He imagined letting go of Felix’s wrists, his newly free hands digging into his blonde hair, pushing his head further and further down.

His cock hardened, desire splintered, ripping up his spine as his muscles locked up. A groan ripped from his throat as, hot as blood, he came across his abdomen. 

He stared at the ceiling, breath finally slowing. As he calmed, he began to realize with budding horror that he didn’t feel any more relieved.

_Saints._


	6. Distractions

"Do you think she would?" Sylvain murmured from his spot next to Felix, pretending to write notes as the professor detailed a plan of attack for a fortress in the war room.

Felix took the bait with a hushed sigh, "Would who do what?"

Ashe leaned over on Sylvain's other side, "Don't," he warned Sylvain with as meaningful a glare as he could muster. It had the effect of a puppy trying to be intimidating.

“Would the professor go out on a date with me?”

“How could anyone say no to joining that exclusive club?” Felix asked, eyes flicking from the board at the end of the room to his Highness sitting across the way in his full regalia. They’d had a few more training sessions, neither of them mentioning that one night, though Felix thought about it often. 

“That club has its perks, you know,” Sylvain muttered, words taking a pointed edge that Felix felt was a little too obvious in present company. Ingrid shifted in her seat, glancing at the two of them, a first strike. This was the glare that Ashe had been trying to achieve and failed at mastering. “I’m just saying, you didn't have any issues with joining.” Syl added just for him, breath on his ear. Felix didn't react, just glanced at the prince who was staring at the pair of them, curious.

“No, my issue was staying—oh, wait, no that was _yours_.” Felix said under his breath, copying a piece of strategy the professor was drawing.

"Fair enough," Sylvain grinned, wholly unapologetic. "You think he'll have an issue staying?" His chin jerked across the way and Felix didn't follow it. Ingrid cleared her throat, strike two.

They both went quiet for a few minutes. Felix attempted to pay attention.

"He likes the boots." Sylvain murmured, twirling a pen around his fingers. 

"No, he doesn't."

"Then why is he staring at you?"

"Because you keep _bothering_ me." Felix hissed back, unable to look at either man. He kept his eyes on Byleth who was staring at Sylvain with a slight frown to her words. “I think you’re ruining your chances with the professor.”

“She’s staring at me, isn’t she? She’ll probably have to keep me after. Make sure I learned everything.” He winked and turned back to Byleth, who looked about two seconds from stopping the presentation altogether. She visibly relaxed when he appeared to go quiet and Sylvain remained a perfect student the rest of planning.

Felix glanced across the room one more time to find that the prince's gaze was on his hair. He didn’t notice at first, indulgently following the line of Felix’s neck, his shoulder, before his bright eye found Felix’s. He kept it for a moment, unashamed, before turning back to Byleth. Heat rocketed up Felix's collar and he crossed and uncrossed his legs, tucked rogue strands of hair behind his ear, trying to get comfortable. What the Saints was that?

"What did I say?" Sylvain asked on a whisper.

Felix didn't answer.

…

Felix didn't look at the door when it opened, just murmured, "You're late, boar."

"There's not even a clock in here." The prince argued as he came into the training room, shutting the door gently behind him.

"Last bell rang six exercises ago. Those take six minutes each, so you're almost ten minutes late." Felix sheathed his blade and turned. His Highness brandished his halberd and then gave him a short bow.

"I'm sorry. It won't happen again."

"Mm." Felix hummed, shaking his head, "What's the excuse this time?"

"Ingrid wanted to know how I was." 

"Goddess, you must be impossible to get alone if all of these heart-to-hearts need to happen this late at night." Felix said, coming out dipped in sarcasm.

The prince smirked, "Not everyone gets the kind of access you do."

Felix fought back the smile those words nearly drew out. "Not everyone needs the help you do, boar." Felix said instead, nearing the prince in the open training grounds. He made the motion to begin, though he still hadn't drawn his sword. The prince hesitated. He white-knuckled the halberd, grip adjusting ever so slightly. In the second between his decision to seeing and him actually swinging, Felix drew his sword and parried the blow. "With the pegasus, Ingrid is nearly untouchable. She practices with Ashe avoiding arrows. Annette and Mercedes say they practice together but I think they just bake. Regardless they are far more competent than you at the moment."

He shifted the Prince's weight onto his back foot by just stepping towards, causing his Highness to adjust his stance which left his right thigh open. Felix went for it as the prince asked, "What about Sylvain?" 

He pulled the hit last second, the question throwing him off. "What about him?"

"You didn't mention him. He slacks off more than any of us, shouldn't he need work?"

Felix cocked his head, "Sylvain gets up two hours before the first bell every day to take care of his horses and maintain his equipment. He runs drills around the fields. After that, he studies, but he doesn't like for people to know he tries. Ingrid doesn't even know that "

The prince circled Felix the entire answer, waiting for an opening that didn't occur. “Then how do you?”

_Fuck_. For only a second, he froze up and the prince lunged for his side, getting much closer than Felix would’ve liked as he managed to block. The blades clashed in a song of steel, Felix unable to deflect the halberd as the hooked edge caught the bottom of his rapier’s blade. The prince managed to get him at a bad angle. He now had the advantage of his height and weight. Felix watched him realize it the exact moment he did and, as he started to use it, Felix said, “Hard to hide when he was getting out of my bed to do it.”

The blue eye widened as the information made him stumble, his grip slackening on the halberd. Just enough that Felix could disengage and take a step back.

"You were with Sylvain?" He asked, halberd edge dropping towards the ground. Felix took the opportunity to knock the weapon from his hand, attempting not to wince at the question and the noise of metal clattering on stone. The prince didn't bend down to pick it up. "When? For how long?"

Felix shrugged like it was nothing, like it hadn't been the only way he'd survived the news of the prince's death and the rumors of his survival, "A couple months on and off. He stayed with us after his father declared fealty to the empire. Also, I win. Again."

Still, the prince remained standing, unmoving. "What happened? Why didn't it work out?"

Felix chuckled, "What do you mean why? Have you met him?"

"I didn't even know you were—" He lost the thread of the words. Felix hadn’t considered that the prince might not know his preferences. Warmth threatened to press into his face. Glenn’s words from his childhood whispered through, unbidden. _Noblemen can't marry princes, Fe. Even if they want to._

"Didn’t know I was what?" He flourished his sword, a not-so-gentle warning at the prince’s next words.

"Honestly, Felix, I've never seen you with anyone but I especially never imagined you with Sylvain." A half-laugh escaped from the prince. Felix couldn’t keep the heat back, eyes narrowing. Hot anger and a little shame at the prince for even thinking any of this was funny rippled through him.

Something shifted in Felix's jaw, he gripped the sword's hilt harder than he should have, his fingers aching.

"What is that supposed to mean? We lived in fear of the Emperor for five years. We thought you were dead for five years. You're really going to laugh that I chose Sylvain for a few months of comfort? Or is that not what you were laughing at?" It all came out on a hiss, like the sound of a sword cutting through air. The prince's good eye widened, his mouth fell open to respond but Felix's legs were already taking him out of the training rooms. "I will see you at dinner tomorrow."

He sheathed his sword without even looking at it, heaving the heavy stone doors open to stumble into the dormitory courtyard. He barely got to the stairway when the sound of doors slamming and the pound of booted feet echoed through the night air.

“Felix!” He kept walking towards the stairs up to the noble’s quarters. A large hand grabbed his upper arm, ripping him back around, face to face with the blonde prince. “Hey, whoa, I did not mean to laugh. I was honestly just surprised. I had no idea. I wasn’t laughing at you. I would never laugh at that.”

The cool darkness of the stairway beckoned to hide the flush that had erupted across Felix’s cheeks.

“I am sorry for my reaction. Forgive me, please.” The earnest edge to his voice kept Felix from jerking away and storming off. He seemed genuinely appalled by his initial reaction.

“Fine, I accept.” Felix muttered, turning away to mount the stairs. "I’m still going to bed."

“If you ever want to talk about it—” The prince called after him, sentence lilting. 

Felix’s head dropped, his fingers curled around the bannister as tight as humanly possible. “What could you possibly want to know about it?”

“Is it the Crest that keeps them coming back?”

Felix couldn’t stop the laugh. He hadn't been expecting a question about Sylvain, “You know it isn’t.”

There was quiet. He heard a couple of hesitant inhales before, "I know how he is to his women and men here. Was he good, at least, to you?"

"For longer than he is to them, yes." Felix smiled and glanced over his shoulder at the prince, who seemed a little upset at the words. “Calm down, I was no walk in the park either.”

“You get along well now, considering.”

“I wasn’t about to lose someone else. Even when he was being a shit.” He murmured, rubbing his arm against the chill of the night air.

More quiet, the prince gripped the railing harder. “I don’t remember much after the tombs. When Edel...when everything happened, getting captured, going to the capital…I only remember Dedue taking my place and then me running. And then I woke up in the field to your father taking a knife meant for me.”

Felix didn’t let himself react though he still vividly felt the dagger of grief twist.

“Hearing the things I missed always reminds me I literally lost a fourth of my life.”

“To be fair, your highness, nobody knows. Ingrid has an idea but part of why we broke up was the secrecy of it.”

“Who wanted it secret?”

“He did.” Felix answered, the shame of having to hide that piece of himself trickling down his spine once again. A phantom pain. “Rodrigue was a lot of things, but at least he never cared about who I loved. Meanwhile, Sylvain’s dad defected to become an enemy of everything we’ve been fighting for but he still couldn’t shake him. Still can’t.” Felix shrugged, glancing over his shoulder at the entrance to the upper floor. They were very alone in the candlelit darkness. “It’s alright, though, it was a long time ago.”

The prince listened for a moment, nodding before a small smile lifted his mouth, “I admit I am a little surprised he kept it quiet. Usually he never stops talking about the pretty ones.”

Felix's eyebrow cocked and he waited, not trusting his next words.

"I lost an eye, I'm not blind." The Prince's grin grew as he stepped past Felix, climbing the rest of the stairs. The door clicked open. "And Felix?"

Felix turned to look at his highness over his shoulder.

"I know he's our best friend, but Sylvain's an idiot for giving up a good thing."

"You don't know. I could've been a nightmare." He managed. The words were weak. "Could've treated him like I do you."

He shook his head, "I don't think Syl would've checked on me on the other night." Felix knew for a fact he wouldn't have. "Wouldn't have really liked waking up to him underneath me either."

Felix flushed but grinned, "He would've warmed you up to the idea very quickly."

"Maybe," the prince said with half a shrug and opened the door further, "I'll see you at dinner tomorrow."

"Goodnight, your Highness."

He closed the door behind him. Felix's heart hammered.

His mind went back to the day it had all started with Sylvain. The prince’s death had just been announced. Felix had gone into shock. Ingrid ran off to her room, Sylvain stayed with him, their fathers disappeared into the war room. Sylvain tried to talk to him. Felix had said something vague about how he was glad the prince was dead. A fight ensued. He remembered them staring at each other. Chests heaving in the foyer, their shouts echoing back at them. The stone was gone, but the ripples remained. Sylvain's face was flushed with anger and grief, eyes shining even from a few feet away.

"You can be upset about this, Fe. You can be scared." Sylvain had pleaded, tears welling up. "You are allowed to grieve."

Felix had shook his head, admitting like Sylvain had cut it from him, "But then it will be real."

It had only taken that to draw up the tears from their deep well. He started to cry without realizing it, fighting Sylvain's swift embrace when he closed the space between them. "We will figure it out, Fe. We'll beat her."

Felix had given in to the embrace, cheek pressing into Sylvain's chest. It had been the first time anybody had held him in years. He'd wanted it to be Dimitri but Dimitri was dead and he couldn't stop crying and he just wanted to feel something. He’d kissed Sylvain without meaning to. Without thinking about it. He half-expected Sylvain to shove him back. Wanted him to. But he didn’t.

He looked after the man who had just left the stairwell. Very much alive. Finally well.

He remembered the piercing regret of not trying when he thought the prince was dead.

After that exchange, maybe he should try now. Maybe when the prince could land a hit. He followed the prince’s footsteps into the hall and walked to the baths. 

When the spars were over, that’s when he’d do it.


	7. Loyalty

Dimitri wondered if that was too much when it was way too late. He just hadn't expected Felix to come out in the middle of a spar. He especially didn't expect a coming out attached to Sylvain. They were close, sure. But exes? Absolutely not. 

Dimitri was practically vibrating with the information in his room. He'd always assumed the man was just not interested in anything. Not men, not women, nothing. To know he not only was gay, but that he'd dated _Sylvain_. He almost just went to Sylvain's room, threw the door open, and asked every single detail. If he didn't already owe him a royal debt, he would have.

Buttoned-up, severe, quiet Felix liked men. Liked Syl-fucking-vain enough to date him. He'd wasted years tiptoeing around him, waiting for a moment. For a hint that _maybe_—

At least now he knew he had a chance instead of being sure he’d just be immediately rejected, laughed at. He remembered Felix’s mention of Ingrid. That maybe she knew. He wondered if she actually did. He didn’t think about the time, just left his room in his robe and leggings, pulling his hair back into a ponytail. Ingrid’s room was just next to Sylvain’s and he knocked once before opening the door. Ingrid was at her desk, appearing unsurprised but entirely annoyed as she set down her quill to a letter she was writing. She adjusted her robe over her shoulders and sighed,

“Are my dreams finally coming true?” She said, sarcasm coating every word, “Will I finally be swept off my feet by a beautiful knight?”

He shut the door behind him.

“Can I help you, your highness?”

“Did you know?” 

“I’m afraid you’ll have to be much more specific than that, Dimi.” She leaned back in her chair, eyes finding his.

“About Felix?”

Her brows knit together. “Again, much more specific.”

“That he’s,” he struggled. If she didn’t know, he couldn’t out him like this. But she seemed to understand as he paused, her face softening considerably.

“Like you? Yes. Glenn told me.” Ingrid said, her mouth stumbling over his name. It’d been years and it was still a knife wound between the four of them. Her fingers drummed the desk. “What about it?”

“Why didn’t you say anything?!”

“It’s not my place. And, to be fair, it’s incredibly obvious to everyone who isn’t hopelessly in love with him.” She muttered, pointed. “But he’s never mentioned it to me directly and it’s none of my business. Why are you yelling at me about it?”

“He told me,” Dimitri answered. “Tonight.”

“Okay?” Ingrid asked, twirling the quill.

“Did you know about him and—”

Ingrid’s mouth formed a tight line. “Ugh, goddess, no. I’m not talking with you about that. Out of my room.”

“Ingrid.” He begged, “So you did know?”

She shook her head, standing to shoo him from the room, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Ingrid.” He went to her, taking her by the elbows in her silk robe. “It will kill me and I cannot ask Sylvain without him getting suspicious.”

“Or him getting angry! You’re not supposed to know! I wasn’t even supposed to know!” Ingrid exclaimed. “Look, I’ve never breathed a word of how you felt to Felix, alright? I’ve never told you about him! Why don’t you just _talk_ to him?”

“Ingrid, _please_.” He whispered.

Her eyes rolled so hard he worried she wouldn’t recover, stamping her foot almost like a toddler as she went through the pros and cons of divulging her information. “Fine. I’ll tell you what I know.”

“When?” 

“When you died.” She answered. “Felix started it. Surprisingly. They were shouting at each other. I came back down to try to keep them from saying anything they were going to regret. Felix was crying which was the weirdest part. I’d never seen him cry. Even with...” She wrapped her arms around herself, face twisting at the memory. He realized she was just wearing the robe and considered he probably should’ve let her change. “Sylvain hugged him. I was about to come back in when Fe leaned up.”

Jealousy stabbed through him. They weren’t even together anymore. It hadn’t ended well.

“You’re not handling this well.” Ingrid stopped, pulling back.

“I’m fine. Please.”

She bit her lip, judging him for a minute. “They fought a lot. They sparred frequently but I always knew when it wasn’t about the sparring. They argued all the time but would hush when I came up. Sylvain acted like it was nothing, but Felix was really affected by it. I think Syl was his first.” She sighed. “At the end of it, I thought I was going to lose both of them. They weren’t speaking. Wouldn’t even look at each other.” 

“Did you ever ask what was going on?”

“I tried. They said it was nothing.” She shrugged, “And then one day it was fine. Felix must’ve saved it because Sylvain likes to cut people out. That’s all I know.” She said, squeezing his forearms. “I love you, Dimi, but you’re such an idiot. Just talk to him. It’s been decades. Are you really brave enough to kill the emperor but you can’t talk to Felix?”

“I can lose Edelgard.”

“You’ll never lose Fe. He’s the most loyal man I’ve ever met. You can _move on_ if it goes poorly.” She murmured, voice urgent. “Promise me you will try.”

“Fine. Fine, I will, Ingrid.” He took her face in his hands and planted a kiss on the crown of her head. “You’re going to be my best knight.”

“Yeah, yeah.” She muttered, removing herself from him. “I don’t feel good about telling you any of that so now I have to insist that you get out of my room.”

“Fine.” He went to the door as she adjusted her robe again with a huff. “Goodnight, Ingrid. Thank you, again.”

“Just promise me you’ll do something with this information.” She begged.

“I will. I promise I will.” He responded, exiting the room in a bow and shutting the door behind him. He walked back to his room just as excited and awake as when he left it. If he could beat Felix in a spar, their time together would be over. He would lose him as a spar partner anyway once he won, so he might as well try it then anyway. 

He just had to get better quicker.

…

Felix didn't know how to feel about outing himself. Sylvain had always been open about who he fucked, just not who he dated so there was no real surprise there. The prince had seemed so stunned at the information but he couldn't tell if it was the preference that shocked him or the fact that he had willingly dated Sylvain.

He glanced at his ex across from him at the breakfast table, taking his eyes from his book for a moment. Sylvain watched a nun walk by, carrying a basket of bread, unaware of Felix's attention. He wasn't sure where the shock came from. Visually, Sylvain was a catch. Tall, handsome, strong. He was outwardly confident, surprisingly witty, and a tactical genius. And this was all without mentioning his cock and how he could use it. If it hadn't been for his father and their Crest obsession, it would've been something wonderful. They'd probably even still be together, regardless of his highness' return.

Sylvain's gaze caught something behind Felix and that wicked grin unfurled on his mouth.

"Dimitri, odd to see you in the dining hall so early! Sit with us! Felix's a bore when he's got a book."

Felix didn't look up as the prince sat next to him, "Perhaps it would benefit us all if you picked up a book sometime, Sylvain."

"I'm more of a hands-on learner, you know?" He made grabbing motions with his hands that were wholly unnecessary.

"Speaking of, how'd your after-hours session with Byleth go? Did she agree to dinner?"

"The professor?" The prince choked.

"Yeah, I wanna see what a goddess is like. And no, I don't think she understood the question. Sometimes she's just not all there," Sylvain said, gaze catching something from across the room. He immediately stood up and started to jog away, "Wish me luck." He called back.

Neither of them did.

"He knows she's been seeing Mercedes, right?"

"Who's to say? I can't keep up anymore." Felix said, it felt easier between them now. Like it did when they were kids, "Aren't you usually with her in the mornings? Figuring out how to attack the capital and all of that?"

"It's been figured out. It'll be the end of the month. We're supposed to have a formal announcement in the war room." His Highness continued eating as though this was nothing. Just another battle. "Seteth will make it."

"Are you nervous?"

The prince looked at him, smiled, "Not really. I've had a very good teacher preparing me." Felix's ears went hot. "I could stand to start upping training to three times a week though, if you have time for me."

"Of course, your highness," Felix murmured, a little shocked.

"Tonight then? The usual time?"

"If that works for you."

The prince nodded, chewing thoughtfully as he glanced over his shoulder. "Have you dated anyone since him?" 

Felix was glad he didn't have anything in his mouth as a laugh of surprise bubbled up unbidden.

"Is that an inappropriate question? Sorry. I've already caught up with everyone else's five years I missed. You're the only one left." His highness winced. 

"No, it's fine." He smiled, closing his book. "I haven't though. Most everyone eligible here is Sylvain's ex. And call me a snob but I'm not really into monks or mercs."

"I'm shocked," the prince grinned, the hard lines of his face softening as he looked at Felix. Something twisted in his stomach and flooded warmth into his abdomen. "No one here really seems like your type." Felix kept his smile easy and shrugged, standing.

"What do you mean? There are an abundance of tall, handsome bluebloods with a masochistic streak in this monastery," his gaze flicked down the Prince's still sitting form, "I’m practically swimming in it." He gave the blinking, stunned prince a deferential bow and smiled, "If that's all, I'll see you tonight, your highness. Don't be late."

The prince swallowed hard, nearly choking on breakfast to nod and say, "I won't be." As he walked away, he was sure the prince watched him go.

… 

Two weeks later, Dimitri was sure he could beat Felix.

Felix's chest was heaving under his black and white shirt, sword barely lifted at the end of their spar. Dimitri was drenched, sweat plastering his shirt to his back, his hair was matted to his forehead. Dimitri hadn't stopped training. Twice a day every day. Three times daily when he knew he had spars with the smaller noble. 

And finally, _finally_, he knew he could beat Felix. And, just in time, as there was only one more spar left before Edelgard and the capital.

One more day with Felix. Dimitri bowed to the slim noble as Fe was bent over his knees, catching his breath. Dimitri was loathe to look away from it as he deferred to Felix. "Thank you for agreeing to spar with me again, Felix. I know whatever happens at the capital we probably won't have time for this much afterwards." There was a long pause before Fe responded.

"Get up. Bowing doesn't suit you, your highness." Felix coughed, straightening back up before pushing a hand through his wet hair. He watched Dimitri out of the corner of his eye, wry grin turning up his lips. "Maybe after the final battle I can be your royal spar master or whatever. I'm sure there's some bullshit title like that."

"If there's not, I'll be king so I can just make one." Dimitri said, laughing as his breathing finally calmed. Felix smiled, turning his head up to the ceiling as he sheathed his blade.

"Yes, that should absolutely be your first order of business on the throne." Felix rubbed his arms, probably numb from the strikes. A quiet lulled as Dimitri beat sand from his leggings and stretched out his back. He'd overexerted on the halberd. "You almost beat me today, I'm impressed with how far you've come in the past few weeks. It's almost like showing up on time and putting in effort works."

Dimitri let the barb go, grinning, "I made a promise to myself, like a prize of sorts that I'd get if I beat you."

"Should have done that day one. You could've done it already." Felix said, hand on his hip as he studied Dimitri curiously. For a moment, the prince thought maybe Felix knew and his heart jammed in his throat.

"I wasn't sure it was worth it then. Now I am." Dimitri said.

"If it's that important then you better come to win tomorrow."

"I will." 

Felix smiled broadly and nodded, "I look forward to it."


	8. Prizes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Penultimate.

The prince had been early to their spars ever since Felix’s accidental coming out. He didn’t act any differently in their day to day but there was a marked improvement in his technique. Sometimes he came to their appointments and his Highness was already there, running through drills. Felix wondered where this respect was when they first started a few months ago. 

The prince had even started sitting with Felix at breakfast or lunch. He didn’t speak much, just let Felix read, but Sylvain had taken notice and it was non-stop teasing since. The last spar the prince had actually almost won, shaking Felix a bit. Part of him almost threw the fight. He was keeping his promise with himself, but he was simultaneously worried the prince wouldn't be able to beat him tonight and that the prince would, but that he wouldn't reciprocate Felix's affections. That it'd be enough to throw him off in the final march.

As he walked in after last bell, his highness was already there, halberd reflecting the light as it twirled around him. He wore a thin white shirt, already sticking to him with sweat, leggings tight, tucked into dark black boots. His blond hair was pulled half back, out of his face. Felix admired him for a moment, voyeuristic, as the blond prince hadn’t noticed him yet. Every movement was flawless and exquisitely carried through. For the first time, Felix knew he would be beaten.

“You’ve finally lost your boar fighting style.” He called, surprised at the strength of his voice as he sauntered to the middle of the training ground. “It’s good to finally fight you again, your highness.” He murmured, bowing a little as the prince turned to face him, flame-bright eye widened to see him standing there.

The prince beamed, almost sheepish in his pride at the compliment. “You ready? I have a good feeling about this one.”

“Do you?” Felix grinned back. “You got pretty close last time.”

“You seemed a little worried about it.” The prince said, bright eye sliding down Felix. He’d stepped closer as they spoke. Felix fought the thunder threatening at his fingertips. He had been worried then. He was exceptionally worried now. He swallowed hard, his tongue filling his mouth. This was it. “Don't worry, even if I win I'll still make you Royal Bullshit Sparmaster after this. You can teach the mercs."

"And waste my talents?" Felix cocked an eyebrow. The prince seemed relaxed in the face of what they were about to do tomorrow, all things considered. There was a bit of nervous energy in his stance but he chalked that up to being excited for the spar.

"I'd still visit you of course. Make sure you stay sharp."

"You'll have to send someone better than you along if you wish to keep me honed."

Dimitri rolled his eyes, “Maybe I'll make you a poison tester instead.”

"Then I can just spit in your food."

"Ingrid's squire?" The bright eye sparkled.

"She'd fire me in a day." He said, "How about you keep thinking on it while we begin?"

Felix stepped back, flourished the rapier, and nodded to begin. The prince was moving before Felix could read him, a slide of metal along his sword as he barely parried the attack at his side. His highness met his look of surprise with a grin that Felix felt in his hips before he slid out of reach on the defensive. Felix circled him, nervous. The prince twirled the halberd once and Felix saw the opening as he righted the weapon, striking.

His forearms vibrated at the prince’s block, sliding up to the guard. Sweat slid down his throat, he felt the prince’s breath on his face. He was too close for the spar but, goddess, if Felix didn’t want to get closer. His instinct with the blade wavered for a moment. The prince caught the hesitation and shoved. Felix barely caught himself, only just dodging the prince’s next blow. A frustrated grunt escaped from the prince, he tapped the point of the blade on the floor.

“Maybe I spoke too soon,” Felix taunted, circling again. The blue eye swiveled to his face, a flush dusted the prince’s face. “Looks like you still have a way to go.”

Something in his highness shifted, like the words struck a nerve. He moved, body low to the ground, halberd pointed out.

No.

The halberd caught the sword between the metal of the pole and the metal of the blade. Felix tried to disengage while the prince twisted, ripping the sword and a cry of shock from Felix’s throat. It was a move Glenn had taught the prince that Felix could never block. He’d watched their spars for years. He’d watched the prince ask Glenn to teach him the move.

Anger flickered through the recognition before a sigil of magic flashed in front of him and Felix’s bare hands turned to lightning in the dark room. The torches dimmed, his hair stood on the back of his neck. The prince barely sidestepped as a crack of lightning singed the stone floor. The air around them smelled like a summer storm in the cold winter air.

“I thought we agreed on no magic,” The prince accused as Felix’s eyes narrowed on him.

“I thought we agreed on none of Glenn’s moves!” Felix spat. 

“If I do not use them, I cannot beat you.” The prince shouted back, irritation flicking through him as he slammed the butt into the floor. He seemed angrier than usual. Maybe from the stress of the battle tomorrow. Maybe from the disappointment that he wasn't as far as he'd like to be. 

“You cannot beat me with them!” Felix laughed, wild, as his hands began to crackle again.

"I have to try!" The prince shouted, a serious but equally wild edge to his words. Felix stumbled a little, magic blinking out as the prince stood there, a bit of panic darkening his eye.

"Your highness, you're entirely over prepared. You can beat Edelgard ten times over right now." Felix paused, feeling exceptionally naked without his sword. His forearms were numb from the magic.

"I know that. She's not the goal here."

"Then what is?" His mouth was dry, the words nervous.

He didn't answer, just asked in a pale voice, "Do I still win if I can beat you? Magic fair game." His stance shifted again with the halberd poised in defense. He absolutely needed this and Felix had no idea why. If it was important enough to go this far for, then Felix would just have to oblige. He tried to relax, to slip back into the fight. 

"You can certainly try." Felix said with what he hoped was a smirk.

The air went laden between them as they both went silent and appraising, tense with their next moves, when the torches dimmed again. The prince tossed his halberd away as the air electrified and, instead of sidestepping, lunged for Felix as the bolt landed right behind the prince, knocking them both to the stone floor in a tangle of limbs. Felix scrambled to right himself from the hit, pulling a dagger he kept in his boot out as he felt his highness slam his shoulder to the ground onto his back. A flash of movement and the prince was splayed across his hips, one wrist pinned to the ground. Unfortunately for the prince, it was the wrong hand.

Felix pricked the bottom the prince’s jaw with the dagger, forcing his chin up. The painful sting on his wrist didn’t let up. A muscle slid in the prince’s cheek as his teeth ground. The room silenced, no hum of arcane energy or popping of torches in response to the magic. Just Felix’s labored breathing mixing with the prince's, the sound of the muscles in his throat swallowing hard, the scrape of Felix against sand and stone as he adjusted beneath the bigger man’s grip. The prince pushed Felix’s wrist harder into the ground which forced him to dig the dagger deeper, eliciting his deeply satisfying groan of protest.

He was sat right on Felix’s hips. The noise of his highness' protest sent blood pumping from Felix's head in a rush of need. He adjusted, not uncomfortably.

“Do you concede?” The prince rasped.

“I’m not the one with a dagger to my throat, your highness.” Felix responded coolly, the pressure of the prince’s ass had his voice thick in his throat.

“I don’t give a fuck about the dagger.” The prince said and, as if to prove it, he moved his face closer to Felix’s, digging his chin into the point as he did so. Everything tilted. He was suddenly viscerally aware of his blooming erection, the exquisite pressure of the prince as his entire bodyweight shifted. His chest fluttered with shallow, harried breaths. Panic flushed his face. Their breaths intermingled.

"Do you yield?" The prince repeated as his other hand lifted up to Felix’s and curled around his wrist. A quick twist, a tight pain. The dagger clattered to the floor without a fight. His free wrist joined the one on the stone above his head. He tapped his head onto the stone, forcing his face to the far wall as his cheeks heated from the loss and the lust. 

“I yield," hissed Felix.

His highness exhaled. Relieved, relaxing momentarily.

Felix remained facing the wall, unable to move. His cock ached underneath the prince. Looking directly at him was torture. Felix considered his options. Somehow all of them ended with his mouth on the prince.

"You said you had a prize?" His voice was thick and quiet.

The prince's gaze found Felix's. His wrists were moved and bound in one of the prince's large hands. He could hear the thud of his own heart in his ears, nearly drowning out their own breathing. His highness should've let him go by now, right? Felix shifted, harder than ever, facing the prince again. His highness' newly freed hand slid to the back of Felix's neck and Felix knew he wouldn't leave the room without tasting him.

"Well?" Felix whispered, their faces inches apart.

"I'm taking it now," the prince breathed, muscles taught. Then, without preamble, he drug Felix's mouth up to his before Felix could process what was happening. Everything blurred and upended. Time skittered to a halt. His body understood what was happening long before his mind could catch up. Warmth cascaded through him with the soft press of his highness’ mouth. He only hesitated a moment before deepening into it immediately, seemingly to the prince’s surprise as his hand tightened around Felix’s wrists, fingers curling into his hair. Fire roared to life in Felix threatening to burn him alive. He’d martyr himself on the pyre if this is how good it felt. Stupid for waiting. Stupid for keeping his distance. 

The prince pulled the comb out of Felix’s hair and tossed it, twisting his fist into the loose locks. A noise escaped up from his chest. He couldn’t get close enough to the prince. Felix’s lips parted his. The quick flick of his tongue was matched by the unsure press of his highness'. He was kissing the king. Every touch earned a noise from the prince. He wanted to hear every single one of them as he adjusted, starting to get frustrated at the restraints.

The prince slipped past his mouth, down his jaw, to his neck. He arced into it.

“This is embarrassing, but I was going to get you the same thing for landing a hit.” Felix breathed out, flexing his impotent fingers. “Glad you went first.”

“Do you ever stop talking?” The prince chuckled, warm breath on his jaw dizzying Felix.

“I could think of a few ways you could shut me up, your highness.” The prince tensed at his title, hips ever so slightly dragging into Felix’s at his title. He was incandescent with desire.

“Care to show me?” He breathed, his grip loosened. 

“Goddess, I would love nothing more.”

His hands were released. Felix took the opportunity to kick at his leg and twist his arm, shoving to trade places with the other man. The prince over him was divine. The prince beneath him was transcendent. His highness’ face was blotched with heat. Felix let himself indulge, palms skimming the planes of his chest, broad shoulders, jaw.

"This is more my speed."

"It felt like you didn't mind being on the bottom." The prince breathed, hands finding his thighs. Felix grinned, the flush overtaking his face. He sank back onto the Prince's lap and a hard heat pressed into his backside.

"You're one to talk." Felix beamed as the prince’s palms rose to his hips.

“You’re not going to stab me, are you?” His highness teased. Felix smiled and pulled a dagger from his other boot, twirling it to the prince’s chin. His breathing was shallow, harried.

“Do you trust me?”

“Yes. Goddess, yes,” The prince rose up on his elbow, ignoring the bite of the blade in his jaw. His bright eye followed Felix's entire body before he pushed up to sit, leaning back on a hand. His free hand tugged at a strand of loose dark hair.

There was silence for a moment.

“Fuck, Fe, I—”

“I know.” Felix tossed the dagger, cupped the prince’s face, heat-flushed as it was, and dragged Dimitri’s mouth down to his. He started to pull back when the prince’s fingers tightened, nearly painful, to keep him from moving away. A kiss slid into another kiss. Deeper, wilder. He felt himself slipping into the glittering darkness that was expanding within him.

The prince’s hand untangled, slid to Felix’s thighs where he palmed the negative space between his boots and pelvis.

“Any more daggers on you?” He asked into Felix’s mouth.

“We can take this upstairs and you can search for yourself if you’d like.” 

Dimitri hesitated.

"I'm also fine with this." Felix amended, a bit more gently, before he frightened the prince away. He'd asked Felix how many men he'd been with but Felix hadn't had the forethought to ask the same of Dimitri. He was either incredibly nervous or this was all very new. Perhaps a mix of both. 

Dimitri reached out and tucked hair behind Felix's ear, taking time to study his face. It was more intimate a move than anything else they'd done so far. Felix shifted.

"I'm not going to the capital without knowing what you taste like, Fe." Dimitri murmured, hand moving from his face to palm the erection at the fork of Felix's legs. "All of you." Dimitri leaned down again, smile on his lips as he whispered, "But I would like to savor my winnings for just a moment." Felix wound his arms around the prince’s neck and leaned up into him, obliging.

… 

He couldn’t believe it.

Everything tilted but the soft warmth of Felix's wicked mouth opening to Dimitri’s. Like molten rock, heat poured down into Dimitri’s stomach and spread to his hips, onto which Felix was expertly shifting into. He never imagined a man with such hard edges would soften in his hands like this. Felix pressed harder into Dimitri, fingers tangling in his blonde hair. His mouth parted Dimitri's with ease and the taste of his flighty tongue had Dimitri worried about lasting past this. 

He couldn’t get close enough. Felix was exquisite, perfect, completely at ease untangling the web of desire that had knotted inside Dimitri's abdomen. This was their last night together as Prince and Noble. Dimitri was loathe to waste it, though his nerves kept him from exploring too quickly.

Felix didn't suffer the same hesitation, his slim fingers traced the Prince's neck, shoulder, collarbone, abdomen and, goddess above, his hand slipped beneath the cloth of his leggings. A dark laugh worked out of Felix's throat as he adjusted his grip around his weight, sending stars into Dimitri's field of vision.

"The Goddess really did her best work on you." Felix broke away to slide his lips across his jaw and ear. His cock pulsed at the touch. His hips moved into the pressure on instinct. His hands snagged on Felix's too tight pants, his thighs, his blouse. Too much sand, too many clothes. Felix caught Dimitri's next moan as he worked him expertly, driving Dimitri to an edge he didn't want to tumble off of here.

"Okay, upstairs."

"You're sure?" Felix paused, hand sliding out. His thumb was wet from working the slit of him. He cleaned it off with his mouth and Dimitri dizzied at the thought of that mouth on him.

"Yes." It was hardly spoken, mostly breathed.

The pressure and warmth of Felix was gone in a second as Felix rose to stand, offering Dimitri an indulgent glance at his thighs and hips. There was a hard outline with a damp spot at the edge. Felix let him look as he lifted his boot and placed the flat of it fully along his length. Dimitri saw stars.

"I can keep the boots on, if you want." He teased, upping the pressure before offering a hand and stepping back. Dimitri tried to keep his breathing even but knew he was failing as he stood with Felix's help. Felix seemed to forget he was a good head and a half shorter than Dimitri and blinked a bit before the sly grin crept back across his face.

"Your room?" Dimitri murmured, tucking hair behind the smaller man's ear.

His grin grew but he nodded demurely and picked up the daggers and the sword, sheathing all, before walking towards the stone doors.

"And Fe?"

He paused, turning, flush high on his cheekbones.

"Keep it all on."

"Of course, your highness," he bowed, sending lightning through Dimitri, before disappearing into the darkness.

Saints. What was he doing? He'd been with two people. None of them men. None of them anything like Felix. He wasn't even sure how many Felix had been with but Sylvain had to count for thirty just on experience alone.

He picked up his halberd, so hard it hurt to even bend down, and realized it didn't matter. He didn't care. 

He adjusted himself for the walk to Felix's room, heart hammering as he went.


	9. Master of the Hunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for following along! This has been a lot of fun and I've learned a ton from completing this short fanfic! Hope you enjoyed, I'll be starting something new soon, just not sure what yet.

Felix walked as quickly as he could to Sylvain's room, praying to the goddess he was there. For once, the goddess answered him. Sylvain was awake, reading on his bed, and snapped upright at the intrusion.

"I don't want any questions, do you have any oil?"

Sylvain blinked before a wicked smile split his face.

"Who's the lucky boy?"

"Me, Syl. Do you have any?"

His eyebrows rose, eyes flicking down Felix's body finally taking in his disheveled and sweat stained appearance. "No way."

Felix didn't move. "Sylvain. Do you have any or not?"

Sylvain paused, closed his book, and got up.

"I didn't even know he—"

"Please, focus." Felix begged, palm out. Sylvain knelt and dug underneath his mattress, finding whatever he was looking for. He pulled out a glass vial of soft gold liquid and tossed it to Felix. Felix caught it with ease, relief flooding through him. "I literally cannot thank you enough."

"Of course, your future highness." Sylvain bowed dramatically while he still knelt there.

"Hilarious."

Sylvain's smile dropped. "I mean it. I know we never worked out but I'm happy for you, Fe."

"Thank you, Sylvie."

"Go."

Felix nodded and bolted back to his bedroom, keeping the door unlocked and shoving the oil into his bedside table like it had been there the whole time. He tried to straighten his hair back out, smooth his palms off on his pants. He thought about changing his shirt when there was a knock on his door.

He sat on his bed, legs crossed, legs uncrossed, legs crossed. "Come in."

Everything tilted again. Everything blurred. This was happening. Dimitri appeared in the negative space of the opening door. His halberd was gone. The door closed. The deadbolt slid into place.

"As requested," Felix kicked his still-heeled feet out in front of him. Dimitri walked to the bed and knelt between his knees as if this was his altar, palms finding the space between the top of his thighs and his hips. Fire spread from the Prince's fingers. He hardened again instantly. Dimitri paused, glancing down at the obvious outline of arousal and Felix's mouth.

"I feel like I should be honest, Fe," Dimitri whispered into the darkness. Felix only cocked an eyebrow. His heart hammered as he prepared for the worst. "I've never been with a man before and I don't want to dis—"

Felix caught the next words in his mouth. The kiss deepened almost immediately. Dimitri melted into Felix, still kneeling, fingers sliding up, up. To his credit, when Dimitri found his cock, he only hesitated for a moment before slipping a hand over the entire length of it. The pressure forced out a soft moan from the back of Felix's throat. The leggings were keeping them fully separated as his palm worked the outside of his length, frustration just making the ache harder. A tease of what was to come.

Unsure hands slipped to the ties of Felix's leggings and, finding them the same as the prince's own, adeptly undid them without ever breaking the kiss. The corset-tight pressure loosened for just an instant before being replaced by the hot, calloused hands he'd only ever imagined. He couldn't help the groan that escaped as Dimitri pulled him free of his clothes, large hand working his length in slow, soft strokes. Agonizing.

He wanted to touch Dimitri immediately. Feel him in his hands and his mouth. He wanted to know every scar and every muscle, see every tension. Just the thought poured desire through him, so much so he had to break the kiss, get air. A half-prayer escaped as he tilted his head back to face the ceiling, hips moving into every stroke.

His heart hammered, his thoughts flicked from one sensation to another until everything narrowed on his cock. A warm breath, much too close to his head, was followed by the slick heat of a tongue.

His head snapped back to the blonde prince kneeling in front of him just in time to feel and see his cock slide to the back of the man's throat. "Goddess," he bit off the cry as Dimitri slid back, only to bob forward again. He wasn't going to last like this. He was shocked he'd even lasted this long. His fingers slid to the blonde hair and as he leaned forward he saw Dimitri's free hand rubbing his own length outside of the leggings. One flame bright eye slid to catch his gaze and Felix moved his foot to the fork of Dimitri's pants, pressing down. The prince moaned along Felix's cock and Felix felt the desire threaten to unravel right then and there. Sheer willpower kept him teetering on the edge, fingers tangled in Dimitri's hair, guiding the movement.

For a man who had never, Felix thought Dimitri could've gotten away with saying he had. Every single motion drew a reaction up Felix's throat, so much so he was having to stifle himself with the heel of his hand.

"Saints, stop, I'd like to last longer than this." He tugged the Prince's hair back, freeing himself from the edge. Dimitri palmed spit from his lips and stood up as Felix heaved in deep breaths. He was tall enough and the bed low enough that Felix was nearly eye level with his erection. He swallowed hard and glanced up at the prince, "Take it off."

"You've given a lot of orders for a nobleman," Dimitri gave him a lazy grin, reaching down to lift Felix's chin up. Dimitri's thumb ran indulgently over Felix's bottom lip and, without hesitating, Felix opened his mouth and pulled his finger in. Dimitri’s eye widened, swallowing hard. A soft suck, a quick move of his tongue, and Felix released him.

“Take it off,” He repeated, falling onto his back and kicking the heel of his foot up to Dimitri’s chest. Dimitri tried to look disapproving but his hands slipped down to the buttons of his boots and undid them them with a gentleness that didn’t slow Felix’s fall. He pulled both boots off at once and dropped them. Felix sat back up and rucked up the prince’s blousy shirt from his waist, letting Dimitri pull the rest of it off. He palmed the planes of the prince’s stomach, watching the muscles contract, before pulling out the first loop of his leggings. The second. His heart hammered at just the outline. The damp spot at the edge. He hooked his thumbs into the cotton and pulled down and wondered how he was ever going to be with anyone else ever again.

Dimitri removed the rest of his clothes, appearing a bit sheepish.

“Come here.” Felix murmured. Dimitri didn’t argue. His knees hit the mattress. Felix reached out, took the weight, and watched the need bead up at the slit. He wondered if he could even last through this. He was in perfect proportion. He slid his tongue from the base to the tip and Dimitri sucked in a breath. Felix met his gaze and kept it as he slid the entire length to the back of his throat. The noise of surprise Dimitri made sent heat pooling in his cheeks and hips. A hand brushed Felix’s ear and then dug into his dark roots, wrapping the length of his hair twice around his hand.

It nearly hurt his jaw to slide down again, working his hand along the length to help. Dimitri hissed as Felix moved again, getting used to the weight of it. Felix let him guide the pace, listened to his labored breathing, half-muttered noises. There were soft murmurs to the goddess, the saints, everyone in between. “Fe.” He breathed, a warning. The hand in his hair quickened the pace. “Fuck, Fe.” He knew better than to keep this going even though, goddess, he wanted to see Dimitri lose it. He shoved the prince’s hips back and heaved in a deep breath, swallowing back saliva.

Dimitri’s hand detangled. He used the new found freedom to rip Felix's blouse off, pull off his tights, and shove Felix back on the bed. Felix stopped resisting, just let the slow smile carve across his face. One hand took both wrists in his, pinned them up above his head on the bed. A knee knocked both of his apart. A free hand ran from his ribs to the v of his pelvis and then down below.

Time stopped as he arched up into his hot palm. Dimitri's mouth caught his next moan. They were close enough that Dimitri's length slid along his. Another long kiss. A slow slide. Dimitri broke away just enough.

"I don't know how this works."

"Top drawer. The glass phial."

Dimitri bent over, pilfered through the drawer before finding the cork-stoppered glass of clear fluid.

"You first, then me." Felix murmured.

A few drops on Dimitri's cock told Felix how this was going to go and he started to relax before flipping around to his stomach, propping up on his knees. There was something very vulnerable about this position. Putting your back to someone. Even if it was literally the only thing he'd ever even dreamt about.

"Now me," He instructed. A pause. And then a press of oil-slicked fingers. A hesitation before one pressed in. Heat flared. He forced himself still. Bit back a moan. A few pumps. Another finger. Felix dropped his face into the blankets. The weight of the bed shifted, a palm slid up his back before resting in the sheets next to his head. Thick heat pressed at the entrance.

"Are you sure?"

"Goddess, yes." He whispered, muffled, hips backing into Dimitri without thought. There was an adjustment, pressure, and Felix pushed back, taking the worst of it in an exhale. Another push and it was almost entirely too intense. Too full. "Few more drops." He breathed and the cold liquid dripped against him in response 

With a slow gentleness, Dimitri pulled back and then filled him back up. "Saints," moaned Dimitri. He leaned over Felix's back, towards Felix's ear, and a free hand still slicked with oil found Felix's cock.

The cry that ripped up Felix's throat echoed in Dimitri as he began to fuck Felix in earnest, oiled hand working him expertly, cock completely filling him every few seconds. It was happening. Everything he'd ever wanted, everything he'd dreamt about. He was deliriously close to the edge, moaning and panting, when it all stopped for a brief second. Before he could form words to ask, Dimitri flipped him onto his back, reoiled, and slid in.

"I want to watch you come," he breathed, leaning forward to draw a kiss from Felix before sliding a hand back to his cock.

On his back he could watch the way Dimitri's abs flexed, the sweat rolling down his chest, the high wild flush on his perfect face. Everything felt too good. The desire had completely overtaken him, he could feel the ball of pleasure begin to unknit as his and Dimitri's half-prayers began to mirror each other. He fucked him harder, worked him faster, and Felix went tumbling off the edge.

"Dimitri, I am—I have to—" he moaned out, bucking into the Prince's cock, into his hand. His own heat spilled across his chest in aftershocks as Dimitri shuddered out of him with, "Fuck, fuck," and pulsed hot ropes onto his abdomen as well. 

The prince exhaled a wild half-laugh and tipped forward, catching himself on either side of Felix's heaving shoulders. He dipped down, slid a hand behind Felix's neck, and brought him up into long, slow kiss before breaking away. "Sorry about—I figured you wouldn't want to have to go all the way to the washroom. Do you have any towels?"

Felix swallowed hard and tried to think. "Yes, the, uh, under the desk. In the basket." The bed shifted. Dimitri left his immediate vicinity, giving Felix a chance to breathe and think. He rubbed his hands over his heat-flushed face, a wild laugh bubbling up behind his palms. There was cloth at his stomach, a quick cleanup, which Sylvain never did for him. The giggling wouldn't stop.

"Goddess, it wasn't that bad I hope?" Dimitri said, half-joking, wiping himself off next to the bed. Felix rocked up to sitting position, still beaming, and reached up for Dimitri's face dragging him back onto the bed with a long, giddy kiss.

"No. I'm sorry. You're perfection. I'm just having trouble with the reality of the situation." Felix laughed, still in such a state of shock he added, "I've wanted you since I knew what wanting even was."

"What?" Dimitro breathed like it had been punched from his lungs. "I thought you hated me. I'm still not sure this wasn't a hatefuck."

Felix closed his eyes, rubbing his face. "No. I just didn't know how to be around you. Glenn told me—forget it, it doesn't matter. We're marching on the capital tomorrow." A weak laugh.

"Glenn told you what?" Dimitri asked anyway. He drug the furs back onto the bed, giving Felix a long view of his battle scarred shoulders and spine.

Felix sighed. What did matter? There was a solid chance they could be wiped out tomorrow. "Glenn told me princes couldn't be with boys. Nobles could get away with it but not the King. Especially if I was going to be a knight." He admitted to Dimitri's contemplative silence. He still hasn't caught his breath, "I didn't want to be a knight if that's what it meant. It seemed self-destructive to be around you and just...and then Glenn died protecting you and my father would not give it up. All he wanted was for me to follow in Glenn's footsteps. He didn't understand—"

"Fe," Dimitri mercifully interrupted as his words started to run together. "I know Glenn meant well and was probably right at the time, but when I'm king I can do whatever I want in my personal life. Anybody in my family who would've held sway on any of my decisions is dead and I'm replacing the court with everyone in this monastery."

There was a moment of silence before Dimitri shook his head, repeating in disbelief, "Fe, after Duscar, I thought you hated me. I thought I ruined everything."

"No, I was just a kid. I thought it would be easier." Felix sighed, eyes still on the ceiling. "And then you died." The words caught and broke in his throat. Saying it out loud was still like swallowing daggers.

"Felix," the prince hopped up on his elbow.

"And then, suddenly, you were back but you weren't. Then Rodrigue—"

"Fe, I am so sorry about your father."

"That's just it, Dimitri, I'm not." He shook his head on the bed, gaze flicking to Dimitri, "I never wanted your apology because if losing him was what it took," he shrugged, voice breaking off. The thought hung in the air, unable to be finished. "It's also the only way he would've wanted to go, so if what he did gets you Fodlan back, I know he'll be happier with that than dying old in the estate. He's in the history books with Glenn now. It's always what he wanted. And it brought you back."

Dimitri was quiet for a long time. So much so Felix turned to make sure he was still awake. "It shouldn't have had to come to that."

"There are a lot of things we let go too long."

A silence followed the sentence that Felix feared would never let up. He'd said too much. He'd given it all up the moment he got everything he'd ever wanted. He wished he had the energy to be surprised at himself.

"I want to start over." Dimitri finally said. "I've missed you, Felix."

"We're marching on the capital tomorrow, Dimitri."

"My feelings still stand."

“We could die.”

“And you want to die with everything left unsaid?” Dimitri breathed.

“Really hitting this at the eleventh hour.”

“Better than never.” Dimitri looked at him. “If you don’t feel the same—”

“What about any of that made you think I don’t feel the same, your highness?” He whispered, agonizing laugh ripping its way out of his chest. “You continue to be willfully dense.”

“You have historically been frigid to me, excuse me if I don’t immediately take you at your word.”

“Fine, here’s the awful truth the night before the most important day in Faerghus’s history.” Felix sat up, staring down at the prince lying next to him in bed, heart fluttering in his chest. “I have been ruinously in love with you since I was eight years old. Even after Duscar, no especially after Duscar. Avoiding you was the only way I could keep my head on straight at school. If I was cruel, I thought you’d leave me alone but that never pushed you far enough away. I was entirely undone at the announcement of your death and it was only Sylvain and Ingrid that kept me going. The rumors of your reappearance were agony. I couldn’t let myself believe it for fear it would actually kill me if it weren’t true.”

Dimitri blinked on the bed as Felix barreled forward.

“You were very ill and I could do nothing about it. I don’t care that it took my father to get you back, I would have quite literally given up everything to do it. Your subsequent attempt at rekindling a friendship and apologizing was absolutely unnecessary and, to be quite fucking honest, a crippelingly indulgent stroke of insanity on my part. Luckily, it did actually help as you no longer fight like a boar, but really all I wanted from it was an excuse to be physically close to you before we go to war. Because, as I said before, I am fatally in love with you, your Majesty.” The words tumbled out with no means for backtracking or obfuscating their meaning if this all was received poorly. Which Felix only assumed it would be. It was, for anyone, a lot.

Dimitri’s face, lust-flushed as it had been, deepened. He was so quiet, Felix felt dinner churning up his stomach, bile threatening to oil his tongue.

“I think I’ve figured out your title,” he said after a moment. Felix bristled.

“I don’t want to be at the castle if I’m not yours. Make me an emissary to Leicester or what’s left of the Empire. I won’t be some trinket to keep around teaching infantry which way to hold a rapier,” He said, the words coming out on the defensive.

“Sheath your tongue for just a second, Fe, it’s impossible to keep up with at the moment.” Dimitri laughed gently. Felix flushed, but his mouth clicked audibly shut. “I’m not entirely sure what’s going to happen tomorrow or what Faerghus is even going to look like after that, but how does King’s Consort sound? We can also make you Master of the Hunt, if you’d like a proper job. You have proven very good at killing boar.” Dimitri grinned, “I also think it’d be quite funny.”

It was Felix’s turn to blink. He gaped down at the blonde prince.

Dimitri smiled ruefully. “You continue to be willfully dense. You can start out as Master of the Hunt if you don’t want to hop straight to Consort after bedding me for one night. Or you can be an emissary, if that’s what you’d like, though I shudder at what you consider to be diplomacy.” Dimitri sat up, tugged a strand of Felix’s loose hair, “You don’t have to be at the castle to be mine, is what I’m saying, Fe.”

“You’re assuming we’ll win, Dimi.”

“Won’t we?”

And it was hard not to believe they would.

“Yes.” Felix leaned forward. Dimitri caught his mouth with a smile. It was soft. Gentle. His hands tangled in the prince’s hair. Dimitri pulled back just a bit.

"Would you want to be a knight instead? Fuck what Glenn said, I can be with whoever I want."

"You really want me employed, don't you?"

"I want you happy. If you don't want any job except approving missives from the Fraldarius estate, you can do that too. I'll just have to find time to visit."

"Wouldn't have to find time if I was just in your bed all day."

Dimitri smiled but said nothing.

"How about we start with Consort and work up to Master of the Hunt? I've trained enough for three lifetimes." 

Dimitri glowed and leaned in. Felix deepened it eagerly and stamped on the panic of the upcoming battle and the finite time they had left.

…

Dimitri walked out of the castle with the professor not ten minutes after disappearing in. Grit dulled his armor, sweat matted his hair, but he was alive.

He was alive.

Mercie darted forward before the rest of them could process. "Your Majesty!" She breathed, sigil glowing, hands slipping to a drooping shoulder. Silence had gripped the entire group. Nobody moved except a tutting Mercedes, fussing with the breach in his armor.

"We won," whispered Sylvain next to Felix, disbelieving. "We won," he repeated louder, moving like he'd been struck by lightning. Felix remained stunned even as Sylvain pulled him into a quick, painful hug. Ingrid slid off her pegasus behind them with a cackle of celebration.

The realization moved through the crowd in a wave as everyone came to life. They'd won. Dimitri gently extricated himself from Mercedes and the professor grabbed the healer before she could protest, planting a joyful kiss on her mouth. They'd won. Dimitri moved gingerly through his new court, favoring his uninjured side. Felix hadn't moved. They'd won.

Dimitri smiled as he stopped in front of Felix though sadness wilted it just a little. They had killed friends and loved ones for this. Dimitri especially. "Your majesty." Felix murmured his new title amongst the revelry, bowing at the hip.

"Your highness, you no longer have to bow to me." Dimitri reached up with his good arm and used a finger at Felix's chin to straighten him out. "Not publicly at least."

Warmth flooded Felix, "It's over?"

He nodded and Felix watched the blonde let himself start to believe it. The revelry continued around them, muted, and Dimitri moved the hand from Felix's chin to his cheek, the armor gauntlets cold until they dragged his mouth up to Dimitri's. Shocked peals of delighted laughter echoed through the battalions and the new court. Cheers began to rise up. Chants of victory.

They won.

He won.


End file.
